Longing for You
by Hana Sakurano
Summary: What is a "feeling"? How would you know if you have one?
1. Chapter 1

Alfred said he'll come back. Arthur trusts him; he'll definitely wait for him.

"Alas, young master," says his helper, a young man, "it's already been five years now, hasn't it?"

"Yes. Indeed, it has." The head of the house, aged twenty-four, replies. "I am quite aware; why did you bring it up all of the sudden though, Toris?"

The younger man referred to as Toris clenched the hems of his shirt. "I worry for your sake, young master. His absence is doing nothing good for your health. Nothing at all."

"That's not it. You're lying, Toris." The young master responds calmly. "You're merely saying that what I have is nothing but mere false hope – don't try to claim otherwise, love. The fact that I am blind doesn't mean that I can't sense it if someone is lying to me…love, come down. Why are you crying?"

Indeed, there were some tears coming out of Toris's eye. "I c-can't help it." He stuttered between sobs. "It's just that…it's so sad. You shouldn't have to go through this heartache, sir. A person as kind as you never deserved loneliness as horrible as this."

"My heart was warmed by your kind words, Toris." Came the reply. "I'd appreciate it though if you don't pity me so much; honestly, I'm just fine."

"A-All right then." Toris wiped his eyes. "As the young master wishes. Rest assured that I won't pity you, sir, but admire you for your loyalty and strength."

"Thank you, love." Petal peach lips curl up into a smile. "You may go now."

The helper bowed. "See you tomorrow, young master Arthur."

Arthur heard light footsteps, then they grew softer and softer, and finally he heard the creak of the doors hinges and the unhanding of the knob from the outside. He sat still for a few minutes in his plush armchair before staring out of the window, feeling the breeze circle past his body.

He toyed with his blonde locks while his blank, green eyes looked beyond. _Looked,_ not saw. For a moment, he controls his breathing, but then he suddenly can't take it any longer and bursts into broken sobs.

"Toris was right, after all." He chuckles softly as he started wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. "I _am_ miserable. And quite pitiful too, I might add." He stopped rubbing his eyes and let the tears fall freely from his face, seeing that there's no stopping them. "Five years is a long time. I daresay that it's a miracle I still remember how he even looked like."

A gust of wind blows harshly from the darkness of the night outside his window. He shields his face with his book; for a moment, he sits as still as he could. After a few seconds of silence, he slowly uncovers his face and sighs.

"Elizaveta," he murmurs, "it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Arthur, my dear." The intruder walks over to where Arthur is sitting and kisses his forehead. "My, you've grown. Puberty has been kind to you, yes?"

"No, it has not." Arthur scowls. "It's as if it is a side effect of our contract or something."

"No, no." Elizaveta shakes his head. "But you know fully well the _real_ side effect of what you've gotten yourself into.

A pregnant pause fills the room. Arthur decides to break it by chuckling.

"Of course," he says, "it's hard for me not to remember. Not being able to see for so long truly is difficult, Elizaveta."

"But was it worth it, Arthur?" The woman hugs him. "Was _he_ worth your ability to see…_them_?"

"Yes." Arthur replies without hesitation. "I don't regret becoming blind because of him. Not one bit."

* * *

It all started when Arthur Kirkland was still a mere thirteen-year old boy. An heir to a huge fortune, he was always targeted by his relatives and even by his own brothers. It turns out the joke was on the whole family, after all; a strange fire engulfed all aspects of Arthur's past. All his family members died from the fire that broke out right in front of him.

He ran. The heat was intense; it boiled his blood and melted his soul, but he still found the willpower to leave as fast as he could. He ran, even though his head was already bleeding. Then he heard them, the footsteps getting closer and closer. Some rival of his family wanted them all dead, perhaps. He moved faster; the footsteps also became more hurried, as if they were fully determined to catch him.

Run, he commanded himself, run.

He would definitely not let them get their way. On that spark of willpower that he expected would be his very last before he drifts away in an eternal sleep, he purposely bumped his head on a tree trunk and jumped to that abyss. At that very instance, he could actually feel his consciousness floating away from the future he'll likely never get himself acquainted with.

"Goodbye, mother, father." He whispered as he waited for death to come by blood loss.

Unfortunately for his last act of defiance, it turns out that fate has other plans.

"My, my, what do we have here?" A male voice thick with some accent – most likely French – filled Arthur's already failing ears. Gingerly, he opened his eyes and looked up.

It was a man clothed in what looked like a toga made from leaves. There were wings attached to his back. His body was hairy and his gaze was misty, but he was glowing.

He was, dare Arthur say it, a forest fairy.

"Now what's with that look on your face, _mon petit lapin_?" The Frenchman crouches down and looks into Arthur's eyes. "Seems you've gotten yourself in a pretty tight situation, _oui_?"

Arthur did not reply. He couldn't; his body felt so weak and his head hurt so much. Besides, he's sure that the bleeding would probably worsen if he ever moved his jaw.

"This has got to be some sort of trick." He said aloud, anyway. "My brain is playing tricks on me...my time is finally up, after all..."

"No, Arthur." The fairy shook his head and held the boy's bleeding head with one hand. "I am as real as you, see? You can feel my hand, right?" True enough, Arthur could himself being engulfed by the warmth radiating from the man almost to the point of suffocation.

Suddenly, the pain from his head disappeared. He felt the trickles of blood stop.

The French frog of a fairy has just stopped the bleeding.

"Don't bloody touch me, you sodding git!" Arthur practically yelled at the top of his lungs as he shoved the fairy's hand away. "I don't even know you. Sure, you're a fairy...but that fact that you're a French frog cancels out all the good in you!"

"The pained me so, my dear little Arthur." The fairy said without any contempt. "And I'm not a French frog because I happen to have a name. It's Francis."

"Francis, huh?" Arthur stood up and was surprised to find out that his body had stopped aching all together. "And you even know my name. What do you want from me, though?"

Francis moved closer to Arthur and knelt in front of him. "Like I said, you're in pretty much a very tight situation. I just assumed that you'd like to do something about it, _non_?"

"What do you mean 'do something about it'?" Arthur hissed. "I lost my family, I lost my fortune...hell, I could just kill my bloody self right now. How am I supposed to 'do something about it' in this condition?"

"Ah." Francis smirked, his eyes narrowing. "I expected as much. Would you like to have a contract with me, then?"

"A contract with you? Why on earth would I ..." Arthur was cut off by the sound of gunshots from a distance.

Francis's smirk grew wider. "Yes, of course you do. You can do it, you know. Have your revenge..."

"Have my revenge..." Arthur echoed longingly. His eyes wandered down to the grassy ground, contemplating. His head snapped back up when he heard more footsteps. "I would very much like to have that, thank you very much."

"I see, I see. _Tres bien_!" Francis inched closer. "I'll give it to, you then. The ability to use magic, I mean."

Arthur's eyes widened. He had loved reading books about magic, and frankly, he still believed that magic existed. And now, there was a forest fairy in front of him, offering him magical powers of all things...

"What's the catch?" Arthur managed to ask. The footsteps were getting closer; whether this was an illusion or not was probably the last thing on his mind right now.

"I'm a fairy of _l'amour_," Francis replied, "so I must take _it_."

"Wha-" More gunshots. "What do you mean?"

"I shall take it." Francis said. "Your ability to love."

* * *

Needless to say, Arthur managed to beat the hell out of his pursuers a couple of minutes afterwards. Even so, there wasn't anything that occurred to him; no guilt, no satisfaction, no relief, no nothing. Just plain emptiness, and Arthur wasn't even disgusted for doing what he has done.

Francis said that he is a fairy of love. He gives love and also takes it, quite literally at that. He said that he uses the strong emotions he gets from his contractors to stay powerful and survive; since Arthur was reminiscing about his mother and father during the time of his supposed death, the fairy sensed his distress and was immediately attracted.

Arthur was not complaining. Being the intelligent boy he is, he was able to retrieve the paperwork from his fire-proof safe – documents that he kept for himself just in case someone attempted to steal them – and got his fortune back, which was fortunately sealed away in some bank.

He made himself ten times richer. With a blank face, he set up his own businesses and companies and made his money grow. Of course, he felt no contentment because he basically _couldn't_. He was doing everything out of necessity.

And then he met him. He saw him in one of his trips; the young lad, even younger than him, has such wonderful blue eyes. It wasn't the colour of said eyes that attracted Arthur's attention, however.

It was the amount of endearment, happiness, timidity, and other emotions that the lad's eyes radiated when they first landed on Arthur.

"Hi!" The boy greeted, his voice pleasantly joyful but his accent too American. "My name is Alfred. Nice to meet you!"


	2. Chapter 2

"My name is Alfred. Nice to meet you!"

Arthur, having lived long enough to know better, wasn't naive. Quite frankly, he was still intelligent; the fact that his ability to fall in love was taken from him doesn't mean that he can't think straight anymore. In fact, his lack of any emotions aside from the negative ones strengthened his mind.

He's aware, very aware.

He knew that if it weren't for the contract, he would have fallen in love with young, carefree Alfred.

It was hard for anyone _not_ to fall for the boy, actually. The way he talks was enough to rouse the flowers into blooming; the way he walks was enough to make even the snobbiest woman (or in this case, man) turn her (his) head and stare; the way he smiles could make anyone feel very special.

Alfred F. Jones, the son of Arthur's business partner, is definitely one amazing person. It was Arthur's mind that told him that without any hesitation... his heart would definitely tell him that as well.

That is, if it could.

* * *

"Artie!" Alfred yelled as he ran down the stairs. A party was to be held at Alfred's mansion. Being a business partner of the Jones, Arthur was invited.

"It's Arthur, you twat." Came the reply. "And do slow down. You might slip and fall on your head."

Alfred abruptly stopped and looked at Arthur squarely in the eye. "So...you're worried about me, then?"

Arthur merely blinked as he removed his coat. "Not really, no. But I do prefer having your father's emotions as stable as possible, a feat not easily achieved by having a dead son."

"Oh." Alfred's lips moulded into a straight line as he walked past Arthur. "I see. Well, I guess I'll notify father about your arrival then."

With a sigh, Arthur watched Alfred walk on from the corner of his eye. The lad's tone a while ago was hopeful; desperate, even. It was as if he were expecting something from Arthur. Some sort of reaction, perhaps? Or maybe just a bit more sincerity to calm his ever-turbulent feelings?

Arthur shook his head. There's no way Alfred would fall for someone as stonehearted as he is. Besides, even if they would engage in some sort of relationship, it would be unpromising. Arthur stopped _feeling_ love years ago.

"You're being too reckless, old man. Slow down." Arthur chuckled to himself as he got ready for the evening. He felt like a fool for even thinking that way about Alfred; surely, there must be some other person whom the boy likes.

The thought of love had been plaguing his head for months already, ever since he first met the lad. The thoughts seem to slap him harder in the face whenever Alfred talks to him like that; the boy's face was always vivid in his mind. But Alfred was simply _there_; there was no emotion to accompany his presence inside Arthur's consciousness. Needless to say, it confused him profusely.

How does falling in love feel like, anyway? Were the books he had read accurate, the way the sparks touch one's spine and the butterflies fill one's stomach? Or is love actually subtle, lingering and softly beckoning?

He shook his head. Perhaps it's better if he never finds out.

* * *

The party was boring.

Arthur wasn't really a sociable person and preferred sitting in a corner alone. The party was full of youthful and not-so youthful women who were without doubt trying to win him over or something just because he is a bachelor with too much money. He resorted to hiding himself from them because if his huge eyebrows were not enough to keep them away, he doesn't know what would.

His distracted mind took him to the library of the Jones's mansion. He breathed in relief as looked up and saw shelves upon shelves of books. There was even a fireplace to warm the large room up. He's perfectly content reading until the party at the other side of the manor ends, thank you very much.

He grabbed a book without paying attention to what he had picked and made himself comfortable on a plush armchair. His jaw dropped, however, when he saw the contents of the book.

The book was in French.

Arthur was so angry that he threw the book – _hard – _and hissed at himself. He's already bloody confused about things and some random book he found at the Jones's library just had to remind him about the bloody bastard who took his ability to love away. Stupid wanker.

He held back a choked sob. He'd rather die back then than have his mind all messed up by the concept of falling in love.

"What on earth did the book do to you?" Arthur heard from afar. His body stiffened upon reflex and his head turned to where he had heard the voice.

Alfred's glasses were reflecting the fire from the fireplace, the innocent book held securely in his hands. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you drunk or something, Artie?"

Arthur decided to let Alfred's use of his nickname pass. "I had a glass or two of whiskey but I'm sober still. Why?"

"Oh nothing...I just..." Alfred took the seat across Arthur and sad down. "I just want to talk to you, that's all."

"To me?" Arthur chuckled, facing the fire. "But there are so many other people out there. Weren't you even enjoying yourself just now?"

"Nah. I need to keep up pretences for my father, so yeah." Alfred leaned back into his seat. "It's kind of boring. Besides, I'm tired of lying to them and to myself, you know."

"I see." Arthur nodded. "So, what do you want to talk about again?"

The silence that overtook the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife, save for the crackling fire. Arthur looked sideways to face the lad. "Alfred? Is something the matter?"

_Please, please don't say-_

Alfred sighed. "I kinda like someone, you see." A blush spread across his face. "I kinda fell in love with...yeah."

Arthur blinked. Something was making his heart hurt...was it jealousy? If it is, why would he be jealous? After all, he can't love, can he?

Then it struck him like a lightning. Of course. His chest was hurting because it felt so _empty_.

He resorted to nodding head. "So you feel love for this person, yes?"

"I s-suppose so." Alfred stuttered, looking down. He was fidgeting and, judging from how fogged up his glasses looked, he was pretty nervous too.

Arthur looked at him. A sad smile graced his delicate features; honestly, he couldn't help it. "Alfred, what is a 'feeling'? How do you know if you have one?"

He asked because he didn't know. And judging from Alfred's appearance this time, his response was not expected by the younger lad. Frankly, Arthur didn't think that he'll say something like that, too.

A soft laughter escaped Alfred's lips. "You're very different from them, Artie." He said. "You're very intelligent and yet you ask something like that. Anyway," he shook his head, "I admit that I can't explain it either. As for my infatuation, well, it makes my heart flutter when I see the person I like, and his smile just lights my world. He has a sharp tongue but he can be kind-hearted when he wants to. And yet, he's just so emotionless. It's as if he haven't felt happiness for years."

Arthur blinked again. "I thought you've fallen in love with a girl, but all right."

Alfred's face lighted up to an ever darker shade of magenta. He looked away as Arthur sigh. The lad was so naive, his tongue slipped.

Nevertheless, Arthur shouldn't be so reckless. "May I ask who is this special person of yours, then?"

Alfred looked at Arthur in the eye. "It's you. It's definitely you, Arthur."

Arthur's chest became so painful that he couldn't breathe anymore. Holding back the tears caused by his helplessness, he came up with a reply.

"You can't. You shouldn't."


	3. Chapter 3

"You can't. You shouldn't."

Upon saying what he knew would be right, Arthur stood up and broke into a sprint. He ran through several corridors and went down several stairs before finally reaching an exit. Panting, he placed a hand over his chest, trying to feel out his heart. It was beating fast, all right, but he knew it was only because of running too much.

For once in Arthur Kirkland's life, he was desperate to feel _something_. Anything. He knew that he's supposed to reciprocate Alfred's feelings some way or the other...but there was nothing, for all he felt was emptiness.

He admittedly took his emotions for granted when he was younger; honestly, love could make a person too vulnerable and weak. He never expected to want something he didn't care about in the past to come back into his life. He should be happy right now, happy that Alfred chose him, happy that for one time in his lonely life, he was loved.

Suddenly, he felt something inside him snap. He felt his legs grow numb and give up on him, forcing him to support his body on his knees. He could imagine it in his veins; it was Francis's magic, circulating throughout his body and reminding him about the contract. What he thought was a blessing when he was being pursued turned out to be a curse after all.

He felt so pathetic. He should have known better about the price he was once willing to pay. And if only he had never met Alfred, things would be much simpler for him.

* * *

Arthur rubbed his eyes for the nth time that day. It has been a week since Alfred's confession and he hadn't managed to get some sleep for just as long. He was thoroughly distracted; no amount of tea or books could ease his drowsiness or the emptiness inside his chest.

He was also considering using his curse to his advantage; he knew he could do it, turn back time so that he wouldn't have met Alfred at all. By doing that, nobody would get hurt...there would be no confusion. Still, Arthur's pride forbade him to do so for the plan made him feel like a coward attempting to run away from his problems. With a yawn, his eyes started to flutter and he felt his body relaxing.

He was jolted awake when he heard the sound of rain. At about the same time, he heard someone knock on the door.

"Sir," his footman muttered, "Mr. Jones sent you a letter."

"Give it to me, then." Arthur replied. Cautiously, his footman entered with the said letter and an envelope opener on a tray and placed them on the table. After dismissing him, Arthur delicately tore the seal apart.

He grew pale when he read the message.

Alfred was going back to America.

* * *

Something was eerily wrong.

In the rain, Arthur ran to the forest, unmindful of how soaked he was and how painful his chest and head was getting. So much unhappiness...what has he done in the past to deserve it?

He tripped over a tree root and fell over. Shivering from the cold, he rolled over and lied in the grass, facing the branches that were shielding him from some of the rain and were concealing a bit of the dark, stormy skies. Something was wrong, something was not right...it confused Arthur so, and he just couldn't figure it out. He panted as he felt the magic course through his veins again, his hands clawing at the soil in frustration.

Lightning illuminated the sky, and Arthur finally figured it out.

Something was missing. Yes, there was the sadness in knowing that Alfred would leave for good, but there was nothing more. He wasn't hurt because of the love he wasn't able to declare.

He wasn't able to declare his love because he couldn't. Which meant that yes, Arthur _would_ have fallen in love with Alfred, after all.

The thought made the ache in his chest worse and he could only let the tears fall from his eyes. It was such a waste, such a terrible waste. Just when he could finally obtain the happiness he was yearning for when he was younger, it all slipped from his grasp. All because of his inability to love. All because of that stupid contract.

"Why..._why_?" He sobbed. He wanted so badly to make the pain go away. He wanted so badly to fill the emptiness with something. All there was sadness, desperation, and helplessness...wasn't there anything else in store for him?

"There is, my dear. There is."

Arthur sat up and looked around. Everything was oddly familiar; the setting, his unstable emotions, the situation. But the voice he heard wasn't a male's marred with thick French accent; it was from a seemingly gentle woman, a fact that gave him a little hope.

She – the fairy- walked over to him in light, soundless steps. "That is, if you're really sure about your conclusion."

It _was_ a conclusion, a statement declared only by his mind because he couldn't feel. Arthur saw that the fairy has green eyes and long, brown hair that she decorated with flowers, uncaring about the curls. He blinked at her. She only smiled in response.

"Pardon me for intruding. My name is Elizaveta, and I want to help you."

"Elizaveta," Arthur weakly said, "why are you aware...?"

"I was watching you the whole time, ever since you were thirteen." Her lips curled down into a sad frown. "That French bastard – yes, the one named Francis – he was the one who cause all of the misfortunes in your life. He was coming up with ways to steal your feelings from you and set up a trap just so you would have no choice but to give him what he wants. With his horrible tactics, you unfortunately fell for it."

Arthur's eyes widened. "You mean the fire...and my family's death? He's the one-?"

A slow nod answered his question.

"I was planning to intervene, to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life." Elizaveta knelt beside Arthur. "But when I figured everything out, it was already too late. You already have your powers, and Francis already took your emotions from you."

Thunder broke the calm silence between them. "I'm sorry." She continues, her eyes shifting downwards. "I couldn't help you back then. I could help you _now _but..."

Arthur sighed, facing the stormy sky once more. "I know. There's a price, isn't there?"

Elizaveta nodded. "I won't force you into a contract with me, Arthur. After all, you might be mistaken about what you might feel about _him_."

Arthur closed his eyes and contemplated. Was it all a mistake, his lingering longing for Alfred? The little emotion he felt could be misleading; because of his inability, his mind could easily play tricks on him and feed his consciousness with lies. His lack of love fortunately did not make him too naive for his own good.

Nevertheless, Arthur shook his head. It all made sense. The emptiness, the sadness, his powerlessness – they could only mean one thing. Even the invincible power granted to him; it alone couldn't make him happy.

There are no doubts.

"I'm positive about what I _should_ feel about him." He said. "So, Elizaveta, what kind of fairy are you?"

Elizaveta was silent for a while before she let out an answer.

"I'm a fairy of perception."


	4. Chapter 4

"_I'm a fairy of perception."_

Arthur began running. Truth be told, he has already shred whatever pride he has left. He was soaked to the bone, his hair was a mess, his skin was muddied, and his cheeks were tear-stained. He didn't care, though. He's too busy running towards the Jones manor.

Whether it took him several hours or just a few minutes, he didn't know. Time seemed to have become quite misleading.

"I want to talk to the young master of this house." He said to the footman by the door when he arrived. "I demand that I see him _right now_."

Of course, the servants inside raised their eyebrows at his current appearance but nonetheless held their tongues as the footman called for Alfred. Arthur stood there waiting, anxious of what will happen next.

His heart was pounding against his chest again from running so much. Soon, however, there would hopefully be...something more. He was hoping, desperately hoping that his conclusions were right, that he was in love with Alfred after all, that it would be worth giving up what he has to in order to gain back his ability to love.

There was anticipation right then and nothing more. Just the emptiness he wanted so bad to fill. He took a deep breath, it felt so wrong-

"Artie?" He was snapped out of his thoughts. "Art- what on earth happened to you?"

Arthur blinked before breaking into chuckles, understanding what he meant. Leave it to Alfred to leave out the awkward bits. "I was a bit preoccupied, trying to get here as fast as I could. Pardon my carelessness."

"Arthur...seriously." Alfred gave him a sad smile. "It's because you've received the letter, right? It flatters me so that you actually care for me. Even though you're way of _caring_ is different from mine, of course."

Arthur looked up into Alfred's eyes. They were blue, so blue, like the sheen of the sky and the glimmer of the ocean. Arthur tried to take in as much as he could before replying. "Alfred, I want to confirm something. If something becomes wrong with me after I've done what I have to do, please don't freak out too much, all right?"

"Confirm wha-" Alfred was shushed when Arthur's lips landed on his own. It was just a peck, enough for what Arthur wants to know.

For the first time in his life, Arthur saw sparks fly.

And suddenly, as Arthur felt Alfred deepen the kiss, he could see rays of light seeping through his closed eyelids. He felt Alfred pull back in shock, calling out his name with a worried, shouting voice, but he just stood there, letting Elizaveta's magic have its way. He could feel the magic seeping through his eyes, and there was more light; perhaps his whole body was glowing in front of Alfred, after all-

Then everything went dark. Arthur calmed himself down as much as he could, trying to make sense of what just happened. Eyes still closed from the broken kiss, he brushed his fingers against Alfred's cheek. He felt the lad's smooth skin, so his sense of touch has been spared. He could still hear Alfred's anxious breathing, smell his cologne, and taste the remnants of the tea he has drunk from the roof of his mouth.

Which only leaves one thing.

Arthur, ever so slowly, opened his eyes.

Nothing.

Alfred gasped.

"Y-Your eyes." Arthur heard Alfred's voice again and felt the lad pull him into an embrace. "Arthur...your eyes, they've changed after you glowed...oh, Arthur, please don't tell me that..."

Arthur leaned into the embrace. "Yes, Alfred. I believe I have just lost my sight."

Something intense replaced his sight, however. Arthur could feel it; the warmth from inside that came from simply being hugged, the butterflies in the stomach that signified faith, happiness, happiness, _happiness_...

Arthur knew he's very much in love.

He regrets nothing.

* * *

"_You see, Arthur," Elizaveta said, "we fairies tend to steal from our contractors the things that they take for granted. For instance, I think Francis managed to steal your ability to love from you because you were thinking that falling in love and loving makes a person vulnerable at that time."_

"_I see." Arthur nodded. "Can you tell me what you'll steal from me, then?"_

"_I'm not entirely sure what sense would be taken away from you." The fairy sighed. "I have a hunch of what it would be, though. Because of your lack of real emotions, you've never really cared to use that one way of perceiving for several years now. You're uninterested...even until now. It's better if you don't find out until later, though."_

_Elizaveta whispered into Arthur's ear: "Make sure that you remember as many details about your loved one as possible, dear. You would want a mental image to hold on to after the contract is sealed by a kiss from you to him."_

* * *

It's true. Because he can't love back then, he really didn't care much for the beauty around him...beauty that can be _seen_.

Arthur has no regrets about the contract, yes. But as he stood there, the smell of the ocean filling his nostrils, he knew that he had other things to feel sorry for.

"I'll write to you, Artie." Alfred said, kissing his forehead. There warm drops of water falling from above; were they tears? Arthur smiled; honestly, Alfred could be such a handful.

"I'll hold on to that promise, love." Arthur brushed away Alfred's tears with the back of his hand. Inside, however, he was mentally screaming in agony. He wasn't able to persuade Alfred's father to let him stay in England, not even to postpone the lad's departure.

Arthur felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace. Closing his already unseeing eyes, he imagines what Alfred would have looked like, then. His hair must still be the shining strands of wheat he remembers them to be; he must be dressed up in formal clothes, a suit that hugs his figure nicely; his eyes, his eyes must look so shiny with all the tears they've been shedding.

"I love you, Arthur." The lad whispers into his ear. Not that he needs to be discreet, however. They hid themselves in some alleyway to evade being seen by passersby.

Arthur's heart clenched at Alfred's words. Yes, he was happy to hear those words but...

"America is far away from here, dear." He replied. "You ought to find a wonderful young darling over there so don't hold back, all right?"

He'll be a fool to think that Alfred's love would last forever.

_Pathetic, pathetic_. Arthur thought. He was able to feel happiness for only a short while but he can't find it within himself to regret something. Anything.

"Arthur, listen to me." Arthur felt two warm hands cup his cheeks, tilting his head upwards. "Look, you might think that I would fall with somebody else out there but I'll be damned if I really do. Arthur," he brushed his thumbs against Arthur's eyelids, "you're the only one who owns my heart. Remember that."

And then the kiss. It was something that Arthur refused to forget even after so many years. It was warming, loving. It helped Arthur forget for a second that the connection they might be having right then could just be a mere illusion. There's no such thing as 'forever' anymore, after all.

"I'll come back." Arthur could hear Alfred holding back a sob. "I'll come back for you, Arthur. Just wait for me, okay?"

Arthur did his best to not shed a tear. "I will, my love, I will."

And as Arthur stared on, the ship he wasn't able to see departing in front of him, he asked himself again:

"What is a 'feeling'? How would you know if you have one?"


	5. Chapter 5

The moment Arthur came home, he fell onto his bed and cried his heart out.

He knew. He knew that love hurts.

"But why here, why now?" He sobbed into his pillow. "Why, even though we've already gone this far? Why?"

After fixing a couple of documents and ensuring that his business is in the right hands, he decided to give himself a vacation. He bought a small house by the sea, facing the Atlantic, the very ocean that separates him and Alfred.

And there he waited, not knowing what to expect. The happiness was still intact but the wounds were just as fresh; deep down, Arthur knew that everything might come to an end one day.

Letters from Alfred came every two weeks; Arthur had them read to him by a servant. He wished that Alfred would have them converted to Braille but he felt that it would too much for him to ask.

He met Toris when he went back to London to check his investments. Arthur, though blind, could sense a pair of eyes looking up longingly to him from an alleyway he knew he passed by. He asked his butler back then to encourage the child to come out and introduce himself. Turns out that he was an orphan and had no other place to go to.

Arthur took Toris to his house by the sea with him and had him taught how to read, write, and serve by his butler, who'll retire soon. Soon enough, Arthur's butler did retire, and Toris took his place.

Then Alfred's letters lessened, reduced into only one letter a month. Nevertheless, his letters became longer and with them came along several little gifts, enough to comfort Arthur for a little while until the next packages arrive.

Arthur was getting nervous, however. He knew how boring he was to talk to in person; as for long distance, he's afraid to find out.

Once, a bouquet of roses came along with Alfred's message. Arthur had all of them arranged in a vase except for one, using a magic spell to make the lone flower enchanted and immortal. Because of the spell he used, the rose would spread its petals every time Alfred is happy and would wilt whenever Alfred is depressed. That way, Arthur would know how to reply to Alfred.

It all suddenly came to a point when letters were not enough anymore. Arthur began yearning to hear Alfred's voice, to feel his cheeks, to fall into his embrace. He began longing for him more than he has ever longed for something in his whole life; it felt as if something was clenching his heart, making it difficult for him to breathe.

Years passed. At least the letters still kept on coming. They would range from depressing to humorous, to something serious that would suddenly end up being random. Alfred would complain to Arthur how boring it was in America and would greet him for every little occasion. He would describe how America looked like to Arthur and tell him how he was starting to get the hang of handling his father's job.

He would tell Arthur how much he missed him, how he just couldn't find himself falling in love with someone else and how he wants to see him again.

After Toris read that particular passage to him, Arthur can't help but smile as tears began to form at the corners of his eyes.

Then came that fateful day. A gust of wind suddenly came from the sea, opening the window to Arthur's room and startling the blind man; he could hear a vase toppling and he hurriedly felt his way around to reach it. He gasped as his finger touched a petal.

The rose died. Arthur couldn't believe it, either. Then again, it _was_ easy to get into some sort of accident at the time, living in the Victorian era and all.

That night, he cried himself to sleep and hoped that something was wrong with his magic, not with Alfred.

But when the date when Arthur expected Alfred's letter to come passed without much event, he quickly got himself dressed and headed to the Jones manor.

The servant boy told him that the head of the house was out.

Mr. Jones was out to assist a funeral at sea.

The ship that was supposed to take Alfred home has sunk into the depths of the Atlantic.


	6. Chapter 6

The ship that was supposed to take Alfred home has sunk into the depths of the Atlantic.

It was a big blow for Arthur, even bigger than when he first learned that he fell in love with Alfred. It took all the resolve that remained in him to keep up a nonchalant façade, go back to his carriage, and keep a steady face on his way back to his house by the sea.

As soon as he reached his room, however, he burst into tears. He took out the wilted rose out of his pocket – he brought it along with him in his short journey – and held it close against his chest. His knees suddenly gave up on him and down to the floor he went.

Five years. Five whole years of waiting, expecting. And it all came down to this. The sea that was supposed to bring his lover back took him away from him. Arthur tried to summon his magic; perhaps resurrecting Alfred back to life was possible? No, it's not possible. He tried resurrecting a dove once and it didn't end up pretty.

Blindly, he crawled around his room and felt the shards of the vase that broke apart earlier. He was in such a hurry that he forgot all about it; gingerly, he held out a shard with edges as sharp as a blade and held it like a knife, aimed towards his chest.

Well, then. If he can't be with Alfred in the real world anymore, he'll join him somewhere else-

"Young master!" He heard a shout. A hand took away the deadly object from him. Blinking, Arthur looked up even though he couldn't see. The aura and the voice…it was Toris.

"Sir." Arthur heard Toris said afterwards, obviously trying to compose himself. "Please, sir, don't kill yourself."

More tears fell from Arthur's eyes. He slowly stood up, brushing himself. Shaking his head, he murmured a reply. "It's just not the same anymore, young man."

He spent the rest of the evening telling Toris all about the love that never fully blossomed because of the circumstances that forbid it to.

* * *

"I won't lie." Elizaveta said. "I feel sorry for you Arthur, I really do. I'm sorry that I can't do anything…"

"It's all right, I suppose." Arthur sighed, leaning into his armchair. "It's my fault for being reckless with my decisions. My contract with Francis, my investment with Mr. Jones…heck, even the fact that I fell for Alfred himself was reckless." He shook his head. "But that one final reckless deed…it is perhaps the very thing that gave me the most happiness, Elizaveta. No matter how much I dread being blind, no matter how painful my chest feels right now, I just can't find it within me to regret everything."

He felt Elizaveta float next to him. "It's such a waste. Alfred would have been a fine young man, handsome and intelligent by now, very much suited for _you_." She shook her head. "And look at you now, Arthur. Despite the consequences, you've grown into a handsome young lad as well."

"If that's supposed to make me feel any better then it's not working." Arthur scowled.

Elizaveta chuckled. "Ever as stoic, I see. But you seem to be taking the news quite better than I anticipated."

Arthur closed his eyes. "Elizaveta, I am not a man of emotion. I've live for years without knowing how to love…it's to be expected of me to be able to cry for only a short while." With a choked sob, he continued. "Deep, deep down, however, I am as much as mess when I was thirteen, when I was getting chases by those hooligans. And when I was nineteen, when I found out that I _want_ to fall in love with Alfred F. Jones. Perception can only give you so much hints, am I right?"

"Perception is not enough to give someone an idea of what a person is holding back, yes." Came the reply. A pause then filled the room, broken only by the sound of waves crashing onto the shore.

"I have to go now." Elizaveta said.

"I know." Arthur nodded.

"Just…don't do anything even more reckless than what you've already done in the past."

"I won't."

And Arthur was left alone once more.

* * *

Weeks passed. Arthur Kirkland tried to go back to his daily routines but found out that he can't. There were no letters to wait for anymore. No more love to be reciprocated. No more Alfred to wait to come home.

He knew that he was starting to get even thinner and that he lacked sleep. He couldn't help it, though. There was emptiness. Nothing but emptiness filled his senses. No sense of purpose at all.

He still has no regrets.

Weeks turned to months, and months to years. The pain began to cease, but the longing was still there. The point came when Arthur didn't have to lie about being all right anymore when asked.

One night, when he turned twenty-seven, he cried himself to sleep.

Sadness. But even that sadness was not enough to fill the void that was his feelings.

"But what _is _a 'feeling'? How would you know if you have one?"

Arthur sat up on his bed. He could feel warmth from a distance; was that a candle? Someone must have entered his chambers. And judging from the aura that the person was emitting, there was no mistaking it.

"Toris?" Arthur asked. "What brings you here, lad? Shouldn't you be fast asleep by now?"

He heard a chuckle. "You're really a kind person, Master Arthur. If it would have been someone else who I interrupt at this time of night, I suppose I would have gotten myself a scolding."

Arthur smiled, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "You're the child I took care of. There's the sense of familiarity…of course I wouldn't scold you even if you intrude at an ungodly hour. I trust you too much." He blinked. "But, that question. How did you know about it?"

Silence. A gust of wind entered from the window, snuffing out the candle. Out of nowhere, Arthur felt hands reach out to get his own, enveloping some sort of soft object.

The object was enchanted. And it certainly was something familiar-

"A rose." Arthur gasped.

"Not just any rose, young master." Toris beamed. Indeed, it felt too much like the rose that wilted three years ago.

"I…I don't understand." Arthur said in wonder, brushing his finger against the petals. "What does this mean…Toris, _who_ are you?"

Arthur could practically feel Toris beaming at him, the eyes that he felt looking straight at him boring into his very skin the way they did when they first met. "I am your charge, my dear master. Just a child you took into your care when he was about to die."

"But, there's more." Toris continued, and Arthur felt something different; his eyes began to ache and he tried blinking the pain away.

With every blink, something seems to have changed. Before he knew it, Arthur could actually s_ee_ light coming from something in front of him.

He could _see_ light radiating from a young man with shoulder-length brown hair and greenish blue eyes, who happened to be floating in a room.

_His_ room.

Arthur gasped. "I…I can see again."

"Yes, young master." The young man, who was obviously Toris, smiled. "It's been a long time since you've taken me in, young master, and I want to repay you somehow. I was too inexperienced as a magic user when you first found me, though, so I couldn't do anything."

The rose – white, Arthur observed for the first time, not a red one like he imagined – glowed even more. "Now that I've managed to train myself, sir, allow me to make your wishes come true."

"You're a fairy." Arthur said. That explains the strange aura and those eyes that seem to bore into his very soul even though he can't even see. "I understand now. But, what about the payment-?"

"Oh, but you already paid sir." Toris replied. "You see, I was running from my Russian master and was hurt all over when you found me, but you nursed me to health and even had me taught how to read and write." He spread his arms wide, like a bird in flight, and magic came out of his hands. "That already was more than enough for me to initiate this contract."

Arthur could see a magic circle form under Toris's feet.

"I, young master," he said, "am a fairy of restoration."

More light filled the room. Then it was all over. Toris floated to the door, taking the candle back with him. "My job's done, sir, though I wish to remain working here for a while longer." He smiled again. "I suggest you go outside, young master. Someone is waiting for you."

Outside. Arthur looked out of the window.

The sea! Which means…

No, it couldn't be.

But Toris is a fairy. A fairy of _restoration_. Maybe…

The longing has grown too much. Arthur put on his robe and ran like he did when he was thirteen.

He stumbled a bit as he made his way on the sand. The moon was casting eerie shadows on the shore, but was illuminating everything that was in sight.

And there was a figure drifting out of the water. There was blonde hair, blue eyes…

There was no mistaking it.

"Alfred?" Arthur gasped. He ran even faster. "Alfred, is that you-"

And then he tripped on his own feet.

Arthur heard laughter. The laughter sounded so wonderful, so _magical_, and yet so familiar. Slowly, he dragged himself up and looked at the figure that the sea gave back to him.

Yes, blonde hair and blue eyes. There was a generous amount of stubble, and his clothes were a bit dirty and was torn all over, but it was definitely Alfred nonetheless.

"Alfred!" Arthur jumped and embraced the man, not caring whether his own clothes will get all soaked and dirty. He was happy, so happy to finally get to _see_ Alfred again.

"Artie! So you knew it's me…you can see again!" Alfred embraced back. "I missed you so much. I know that you missed me to, tripping over sand and all."

"I wasn't able to run for years, you limey git." Arthur spat. "But yes, I can see again, and there's no denying the truth…I did miss you so much."

For a while, they were content to be in each other's arms, the waves of the sea dancing at their feet, their embrace warming them up. Arthur couldn't have been happier. Finally, after so many years of longing, he got Alfred by his side again.

"You know, Arthur," Alfred gently pushed Arthur back, only to cup his cheeks in his hands, staring into the eyes that can now finally see, and smiled, "your question. You know, the one about what a 'feeling' is? It took me years to find my real answer, but I finally found it."

His lips inching towards Arthur's, he began whispering. "It turns out that it doesn't matter what feelings really are, Arthur, as long as you have them and you are able to share them with the one you love the most."

Their lips touched. Arthur kissed back, embracing Alfred further.

Arthur found out that yes, he agrees with Alfred's answer.

At long last, the longing was replaced by genuine, lasting happiness.

* * *

**Le wild notes appear!**

Thank you so much for reading my first. Fanfic. Ever. Seriously, thank you so much!

I'm sorry if everything felt so fast-paced. I hope I'll improve soon, though.

I don't think anyone would have expected Toris to be some sort of fairy along with Elizaveta (a fairy of perception because she loves to _observe_) and Francis (definitely a fairy of _l'amour_). The ending is too much of a deus ex machina but I couldn't find myself to care. Sorry.

So that's it! And pardon me for my spelling and grammar errors. English is not my first language.

Reviews take my depression away.


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